Sometimes there are frantic intervals in our lives that utterly absorb us and take us completely away from ourselves and the people we love. Maybe I mean this figuratively. We have not necessarily disappeared in these moments, but the distance and the disconnect are palpable. In these periods of perpetuity, it often feels that in order to survive, we must abandon our bodies, put our sense of humor in a drawer, and forget, for a little while, the ease of breathing slowly. These are not easy times, and our energy must be carefully rationed. We cut off; we retreat; we become dormant.
When we're caught like this, often we'll enter long dances with insomnia through the night, and even after we've refused her, time and time again, she keeps reaching for us, dragging us away from our dreaming like a crazy, caffeinated ghost.
If we're lucky, our lives are merely punctuated by periods like this, but not comprised of them. I am lucky. I am coming back alive again.
Some things are very different from a year ago: We bought a home together by the park--our most favorite park--which we love, and I am talking to all of our plants, promising things will indeed be okay in these new windows. When I do this, I'm quietly begging them to keep their leaves upright, to in fact hold onto their leaves for that matter, and to let me know in a reasonable fashion if they need to be watered or re-potted. Wilting or drinking water very quickly are good ways to communicate this to me. This is what I've told them. So far, we're on the same page. And I'm writing again more, which is essential.
This is what it means to re calibrate, to recalculate, to come to peace with the old and invite into my life the very new: the words, ideas, people, and visions that bring a sense of hope, empowerment, and creative vitality to this world.
I'm back now. I'm going to try and stay a while this time.
Peace,
Marianne
Photo credit: calmingcalamity.tumblr.com thank you!
